Page 47 of His Ruthless Obsession

"Clean this up when you're done," I order, pulling on my jacket. "And make sure they find Angelo first. He was their captain - he deserves the spotlight."

19

JAZZ

Ipace the living room, my phone clutched in my hand. No messages. No calls. Nothing. Not since he told me to wait up. The city lights twinkle through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but even they're starting to fade as dawn creeps over the horizon.

The distinct click of the front door makes me freeze. My heart pounds as footsteps echo through the penthouse. Heavy. Deliberate. The guest shower cuts on, water drumming against tile.

I grab the crystal paperweight from the side table - solid, heavy, deadly if needed. The cold weight settles in my palm as I creep down the hallway toward the bathroom. Steam curls under the door.

My fingers tremble on the handle. I push it open, weapon raised.

"Jesus Christ." The paperweight clatters to the floor.

Blood. So much blood. It streaks the white tile, swirls pink down the drain. Nerio stands under the spray, his white shirt soaked crimson, clinging to his shoulders. Dark spatters mark his face, his neck, matting his hair.

"Close the door." His voice is gravel-rough. He doesn't even turn to look at me.

I step closer, scanning for wounds. "Nerio-"

He yanks off the ruined shirt, tosses it in a wet heap on the floor. "Go back to bed, little dove."

I grab a towel from the rack. "I thought you wanted me to stay up for you."

"Didn't realize I'd be out this late." The water runs red around his feet.

"Are you…" I swallow back the wave of emotion hitting me. I knew what he was out there doing, but I didn't expect to feel so…worried. "Are you okay?"

The water sluices over his muscles as he turns. My breath catches - not from the sight of his bare chest, which I've seen before, but from the dark marks scattered across his skin. Are those bruises? Cuts?

"Fuck." My hands shake as I step closer to the shower. "Where are you hurt?"

"Jazz-" He holds up his hands, palms out.

I don't let him finish. The fear churning in my gut propels me forward. My clothes soak through instantly as I crash against him, crushing my mouth to his. His lips part in surprise and I taste copper, mint, whiskey. My fingers trace desperately over his chest, his sides, searching for wounds.

He growls against my mouth, backing me into the tile wall. Water streams down my face, between our bodies. His hands grip my waist, pinning me in place.

"I thought-" I break away, gasping. "When you were gone so long, then all this blood-"

"Not mine." He catches my chin, forces me to meet his steel-gray eyes. "Look at me. I'm fine."

"I was scared." The admission slips out before I can stop it.

His expression darkens. He crashes his mouth back to mine, hungry and demanding. I arch into him, relief and desire tangling together as his hands slide under my soaked shirt.

"Didn't mean to worry you, little dove." His teeth graze my bottom lip. "But I like seeing you care."

"Of course I care," I whimper against his mouth. Water streams between us, soothing my skin as I let my emotions wash over me. "You think I don't sit here wondering if you're bleeding out somewhere in the city?"

His mouth claims mine again, harder this time. Demanding. Possessive. I melt into him, fingers sliding into his wet hair as he devours me. The wall is cold against my back but his body burns hot against mine, all hard muscle and raw need.

"Strip." His command vibrates against my throat as he trails bites down my neck.

I yank my soaked shirt over my head, letting it fall with a wet slap. His hands slide under the waistband of my shorts, dragging them down my legs. Each touch sets my skin on fire.

His mouth follows the path of the water droplets down my collarbone, across my breasts. "So beautiful when you worry about me."

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